


Crossing a Line

by MaK



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-12 06:53:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3347669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaK/pseuds/MaK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The alternative title: Gays at School: The Myth, the Practice, and the Experience.</p><p>Kanaya has plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Explanatory

**Author's Note:**

> This series comes from basically the same universe as The Characteristics of Captain Ahab. However, what happened in that story hasn't happened/won't happen in this one, but the idea is pretty much the same.
> 
> Will update on Fridays!

Last period is spent pretending to ignore the small balls of paper that Karkat is repeatedly tossing against your back; though, as you have come to find, distracting yourself in English class is an especially easy task to perform and it’s that exact reason your friend is doing his best to quietly get your attention. The bell is going to ring in five minutes, time that should be spent working on your multitude of assignments that are continuing to add up, but you just watch your teacher play on her phone. It’s not so much watching her as studying her, noticing the way her shirt fits around her chest and how her skirt ends a few inches above her knee. It’s modest attire – appropriate for a teacher, anyway – and you’re disappointed to notice that her button up is stylishly loose on her figure, but it doesn’t stop you from imagining how she looks underneath it. You ignore the piece of paper that nearly hits your eye and think about just how you would get your teacher out of her clothing. 

You consider the noted fact that she doesn’t go out of her way to speak to her fellow staff and students unless it’s necessary, so you imagine that you would certainly have to advance on her. _Seduce_ her, even. But, you consider, she spends quite a bit of time telling you to get your work done instead of staring off into space, so it’s also possible that she would be willing to make an advance on you instead. You grin, desperately curious as to what type of person she would be in bed. It would be ridiculous to think the woman you see in the classroom is the same person when surrounded by her peers, but you’d like to think she’s fairly honest with how she presents herself to anyone she encounters. You certainly can’t picture her being any less sarcastic and witty outside of school. After a moment of determination, you decide that she would probably be willing to flip flop, but is likely a top, and that’s perfectly fine with you. 

Smirking, you put all your mental power into willing her to look over at you, to notice your blatant staring and get what you’re trying to signal. It’s fairly obvious, though. In fact, you’re certain she knows about how you feel. Still, you want her to look at you in the same way, but your attention moves as soon as one of Karkat’s many attempts to distract you reaches success and a paper ball lands right in your ear. Jumping, you hear him laugh and then cover his mouth, but the damage had been done. Snapping her head up from her phone, your teacher raises her brow and glances from the collection of paper balls on the floor to Karkat and makes the connection. “I believe you have a mess to clean up, Vantas,” and he grumbles and starts to pick them up one-by-one. You kick some of the mess out from underneath your desk, but make no other attempt to help him; instead, you think about how you’d want her to say the same thing to you. _‘I believe you have a mess to clean up, Maryam,’_ and then she’d spread her legs and, at least in your fantasy, you would perform the best cunniligous known to mankind. You would probably be awarded a Grammy for it, really. Or maybe you’d win the Miss Universe award, because everyone would be so amazed when you tell the world that your talent is eating out women like no other. 

Before you can think about that any further, the bell rings. Karkat is still cleaning up his mess and you wait for him, using it as an excuse to be the last one to leave the room. Not that an excuse is really necessary at this point, seeing as you’ve found even lamer reasons to stay behind an extra minute or two. It’s usually a chance to enjoy a little more conversation with your teacher, but it’s always you hoping that she’ll call you over to her desk and command you to get on your knees – admittedly, that probably won’t happen, but it doesn’t stop you from praying for it. Once most of the students have gone out, your teacher is collecting her bag and she brings her attention back to Karkat, smiling curiously. “What was your intention of throwing those, anyway?” she puts her hand on her hip and you want to put your hand there instead.

“I needed to get Kanaya’s attention for something,” he replies and doesn’t look up, simply staring at the ground while he piles the crumpled paper into his hand and trying not to let them spillover from between his fingers. A second later, he adds, “Sorry, Lalonde.” 

“It’s fine,” she shrugs, bringing her eyes to you. You could melt in less than a second, staring at cool lavender and then absently wonder what her face looks like when she reaches orgasm. It’s a mystery you promise that you will solve at a later date. “What did Vantas need your attention for, Kanaya? Certainly not to get help on any homework, seeing as you’ve yet to turn in the last five assignments,” Lalonde smirks and drops an obvious hint, though you elect to ignore it. There’s really no reason, not one that you can imagine, that would be more important that checking out your teacher for forty-five minutes straight. You also do not miss that she addresses Karkat by his surname and you by your first name, which makes you more than a little proud. 

You smirk in return and you’d think it was obvious that you want to get into her pants, but she makes no motion to suggest that she’s recognized this fact. It’s slightly disheartening, but you’re not deterred and answer her question anyway, “I can assure that, while I have not turned them in, I do have a complete understanding of what we’re doing.” Mostly, it’s true. You know the class is doing something about poetry and analyzing it, but you actually have no clue how to paraphrase a poem or even to summarize one. Honestly, you couldn’t even offer an accurate definition of the word prose and how it compares to poetry, but it’s all irrelevant when it comes to her.

Karkat, having gathered the entirety of his mess into both of his hands, stands up and pointedly glares at you, calling you out on your lie, “ _That_ is some complete bullshit, Kanaya,” and then he dumps the paper in the waste basket. When Lalonde eyes you expectantly, you just shrug and grin.

“ _Is_ it completely bullshit, Kanaya?”

“ _Is_ it, Rose?” 

She laughs – which you could listen to forever; her laughter is so soft and lighthearted – and reminds you, “It’s _Lalonde_ to you.” 

You grin and smoothly say, “Sure thing, _Rose_ ,” while repeatedly raising your eyebrows. If you put the effort into it, you could likely spend hours on end saying the name _Rose Lalonde_ until it sounds fuzzy on your tongue. She laughs again and waits for you and Karkat to leave the room before heading off to the teacher’s parking lot, leaving you and your friend to go in the other direction. 

As soon as you’re around the corner, Karkat nearly erupts with, “Why didn’t you fucking turn around to talk to me!?” His temper is on a short fuse, you note, and debate whether or not you should really respond, seeing as he is more than aware of what the answer is going to be. It doesn’t take long for him to take your silence as your answer and he groans, beginning to carry off into a one-sided conversation all on his own, only turning to you every now and again while you nod and go along with him until you’re to your car. “And for another thing, I just simply do not get why you fucking like _Lalonde_ out of all the teachers you could possibly be into – I mean, come the fuck on!” he exclaims in exasperation and you remind him that you’re not _into_ her, you just really want to be fucked by a lady that bathed in the light of angels before she met your eyes and all he says is, “You’re so fucking gay.” He carries the conversation on with himself up until you get to his house and only really bother with replying when saying goodbye. As he waves you off, you admit that you hadn’t listened to a single word of his rant as soon as he started talking about how weird it was to look at someone for nearly an hour straight.

He is right about a few things, though. Karkat doesn’t much care to bring it up as a main point, seeing as he’s no star student, but your slipping English grade is sort of a big deal, and he mentions it from time to time. You know he means well, but it’s hard to do any sort of assignment from that class when you immediately association the word English with Rose and then you’re on a completely different train of thought. Papers and handout assignments can wait, you’re far too caught up in your lust for your teacher to really care about any of your reading. When Karkat had brought it up the problem the first time, you had rolled your eyes and said, “Why would I open a book when I can open her legs?” which got you a high five and a cackle from Terezi right before Karkat shoved you off of your chair.

Once you arrive home, you find that Porrim has left a note on the fridge indicating there are leftovers in there and that she’ll be busy with her job tonight. You don’t mind and you're actually relieved that she’s gone, seeing as she won’t be able to hassle you about your grades tonight. In bed, you watch the lines of sunlight that filter through your blinds as they fade away as night comes and you spend the entirety of that time thinking about your teacher. With Rose, it’s easy to let your mind wander.

At first, it had just been purely about casual conversation between a teacher and her student; really, English had always been one of your favorite subjects and Rose was an interesting person from the start, so there’s no surprise that you would strike up an innocuous friendship with her. Your timeline of the events after that are a tad fuzzy, but you remember spending a large part of your junior year playfully throwing snarky remarks her way and accepting quite a few sardonic comments from her. It was all good fun and it would be wrong to say that Rose didn’t quickly become one of your closest friends, though you doubt she feels the same way about that. After a few weeks of senior year, your conversations quickly went from jokingly derisive comments to outright flirting – at least, from your side. The hints could barely be called just that, seeing as it was more like you blatantly telling her you want to sleep with her and covering it up by using a few well placed elegant words, but she reciprocated nonetheless, though this was usually with a, “ _That’s_ inappropriate,” and a smirk. You recognize the phrase is more of a mere suggestion than truly flirting. At least, that’s what you got from it. A rather loud mouthed friend has told you that it likely means she’s telling you to shut up and stop brazenly blurting out your thirst for her, but you don’t pay very much attention to Karkat’s opinion on the matter.

Besides, you’ve already made plans for this. Your relationship with your teacher is like a small, barely burning flame and you’re going to douse it with as much gasoline as you can conceivably get your hands on. Even though she is quite dedicated to simply playing along with a cheerful selection of sarcastic words, you’ve got plans to make your senior year as memorable as possible and finally achieve your yearlong goal of getting your teacher in bed with you. And it’ll all start with tomorrow.


	2. Non-Prevailing Dissuades

Once upon a time nearly five years ago, when you were an credulous thirteen-year-old just heading into seventh grade, there was an incident that would leave your name buzzing around the school hallways for nearly three weeks straight. On the particular day that sparked all the talk, you had put on a simple dress with leggings underneath, truly modest attire with the hem of your dress reaching past your fingertips, but that didn’t stop your name coming out through the intercom, demanding your presence at the principal’s office as soon as possible. One ruler and a measurement later, it was proven that your dress was six inches above your knee instead of five, a _clear_ violation of school rules, and you would either need to change or go home. Having no other clothes, your sister was promptly called down to the school to pick you up.

Porrim walked up to the front doors and calmly looked over your outfit and nodded curtly, barely paying you much attention while she strode onward. Confused and anxious, you tailed behind her as she went back into the middle school’s wing of the building, asking persistent questions as to what she was doing and why can’t you just go home (it’s not as if you were really bothered with leaving school early anyway), but all of the answers came at once when she sat herself down in front of the principal’s desk and indicated for you to sit beside her - you distinctly remember feeling clammy as you sat and ignoring the temptation to pretend to toy with your phone. Fiddling with your fingers, you listened as what started with, “Hello, sir, I heard my sister somehow broke some rules?” abruptly lead to, “First of all, the problem with this is that the dress code is just a set of guidelines that are meant to degrade young girls. Second of all, the ‘five inches’ rule doesn’t even make sense; plus, why were any of the teachers staring at Kanaya like that _anyway_? Shouldn’t you be more concerned with the people looking at her rather than wasting her school time?” After a heated conversation where the principal sunk further and further into their chair, your sister took it up with the schoolboard. Aghast, you watched as she spent four hours holding a mock filibuster; the only reason it ended was because the group of people listening were sick of hearing her. On the way home, Porrim had looked down at you and grinned haughtily, “You’ll never hear a word about your outfit choices again,” before she started up on another rant about sexism and misogyny. Inspired but mostly tired, you were thankful for her effort but more than ready to go home and sleep.

Though you were unofficially immune to any of the dress code guidelines, you never went out of your way to use that advantage to its full effect. A majority of your outfits had always been (and still are) fairly regular and acceptable in most social situations; your wardrobe mainly contains long skirts and dresses, ones that pass your knee and hug your waist, and the only thing that could be deemed inappropriate was your leggings, but you almost always had those covered. However, with a mission in mind, it was time to change things up a little. You spent nearly four hours going through boxes of your old clothes, throwing aside shirts and jackets that made you want to gag with how bad the colors clash, a true representation of 90’s fashion, but eventually you find exactly what you are looking for. Back in middle school, you played quite a bit of volleyball before being booted off the team and still had some of the shorts you bought in bulk at the time. Grinning and pulling a pair on, you danced around your room successfully at one in the morning, keeling over in a fit of weary laughter as you recall these shorts covering your knees when you were thirteen and now they don’t even come mid-thigh on your legs. As well, they’re snug, and it’s the exact effect you’re going for. There’s no possible way Rose wouldn’t notice such provocative clothing, especially from her favorite student.

After another vigorous thirty minutes of searching, you find a tank top you haven’t worn in ages. It’s not tight and instead hangs off of you just a tad and you tug along the neckline to see just how far it will go, satisfied and grinning to yourself. Next, you hunt down a baggy cardigan that slips off your shoulders if you don’t pay too much attention (personally your favorite, though you only wear it in the house and take it to schools on particularly lazy days). In total, the outfit shows complete disregard for the school’s dress code and you couldn’t be more pleased with your selected garments. Hastily changing into pajamas, you attentively place your chosen attire on your desk before taking a few short steps to your bed and collapsing upon it, though you don’t sleep right away. You think about Rose, her violet eyes and painted lips and her boundless beauty that captures you every day, and her response to your outfit; if your many prayers are answered, you’ll walk into English class tomorrow and she’ll order everyone else in the room outside and sit you on a desk, climbing into your lap and letting you hold her ass while she kisses you furiously. That’s how you plan for it to go, anyway.

\---

In the morning, you wake to Porrim pounding on your door and yelling that you’re going to be late if you don’t wake up soon. With a moment spent groggily staring at your pillow, you shoot up from your slouched position and nearly fall out of the bed, suddenly feeling rushed and energized even though you’re exhausted. Spending fifteen minutes on your hair and then ten minutes making sure your outfit appears exactly how you want it to, you’re out the door and only three minutes later than usual, which isn’t a big deal and isn’t all that bad considering you slept in, but you pick up an irritated Karkat nonetheless. He opens the car door with a, “You’re fucking…” and before he can even say the word late he’s stopped talking, leaving his mouth agape and backing away with a pause as he spies your choice of apparel. Meeting your eyes, he squints and looks as if he’s searching your face for something, and asks, “Is this some kind of shitty move to get in Lalonde’s pants or did you forget to change out of your pajamas?”

Grinning, you admit, “The former.” In return, he groans and mutters about how such an obscure plan would _never_ work, but you drown him and his pessimistic attitude out with the radio. Once you get to the school and turn off your car, you catch the last few words of his longwinded speech and are almost impressed that he managed to talk the entire ride there without seeming to change the topic. Your surprise is quickly lost, though; there’s more important things at hand than Karkat’s capability to talk for hours on end but still say nothing at all (which you will always think is funny, seeing as he often complains about his brother for possessing the same habit and makes jabs at you for rambling from time to time).

Before first period, you quickly hunt down Vriska to pass an inquiry about how your outfit looks, pushing away the baggy sides of your cardigan so she can give proper judgment. Her normal expression of general distaste falters and then falls completely, eyes widening and she stutters for a few minutes before formulating the reply, “You look good,” and the words leave her throat with a dry croak, as if she’s suddenly dehydrated. You smile and give your thanks, feeling truly poised and satisfied.

Thankfully, the hours before your last class fly past in a breeze; your first three classes are spent making your best effort to keep your eyes open as your body pleads with you to rest your head on the desk and slumber. The only thing that shows to be truly remarkable entertainment is when you walk into your foods and nutrition class and Eridan spits out the water he was drinking on the floor. During lunch, you endure another rant from Karkat, followed by a stern lecture from Terezi, which is somewhat of a surprise and a disappointment. Though in a joking fashion, she usually has your back when it comes to these sort of things, but now she’s upset because you’re breaking some rules – or, as she yells, “ _Laws_ , Kanaya! _Laws_!” - and you spend a majority of the hour hiding your laughter behind your hand. Though you had managed to fight if off through most the day, you do fall asleep in fifth period and are abruptly woken up when one of your classmates loudly drops their textbook on the floor just to bother you, but sixth period is actually fun; though you don’t care much for chemistry, Jade Harley is an exceptional teacher, as well as the best track coach you’ve ever had the pleasure of cooperating with, and the two of you usually share polite banter and helpful gardening tips throughout the period. She even comments, “You look great today, Kanaya!” The words come off as cheeky and you snicker.

Then, _finally_ , last period comes. You almost forget to grab your English notebook on your way to class, but you can hardly be blamed; you’ve spent the last six hours – and longer, if counting last night – waiting for this period to come and you are more than a little giddy, though you manage to steel yourself before walking into the classroom. For once, you’re going to be coy; though Rose is more than likely aware of your attraction to her, you’re going to pretend as if it vanished overnight while wearing a revealing outfit – in summary, you’ll be playing a game of ‘hard to get’ and you can only hope she’ll play along too. With a casual, “Good afternoon,” tossed Rose’s way, you listen and smirk when her normal greeting is cut off the same second you feel her eyes land on you.

Leaning backwards on your desk, you spend a minute watching her as she stares at you; if it weren’t for your fellow classmates wandering into the room, you would hop on her right then, but instead just bite your lip and hide a grin when Rose mutters out a weak, “Dress code,” and looks away. If you’re not mistaken, you see her smile a second later, but you aren’t sure if it’s because of you or something else. The bell rings and you sit in your desk and she quickly takes attendance and after that, class carries on as normal. There are five paper airplanes, wings that hold notes written in the all capital letters Karkat’s known for, tossed your way before Rose tells him to stop, but she never passes a glance your way, even though you know she can tell you’re looking at her. Because of it, you’re somewhat deterred; she’s given you no attention whatsoever since the beginning of class and in your fantasy she couldn’t get her eyes off of you. You would like to entertain the thought that she is actually doing her best to restrain herself and not look at you in case she’s overcome by lust and desire and can do nothing but give herself to you, but you’re fairly certain that her momentary astonishment with your appearance was just surprise rather than sudden lust. Feeling slightly dejected, you realize that such a reaction is far more realistic than her throwing herself at you, which is something you probably should have taken into consideration before enacting this plan.

Sighing, you take your eyes away from Rose and set them on your notebook, brainstorming new ideas to try out at a later date, perhaps when you’ve gotten over the embarrassment that this plan has resulted in. If you talk to the guidance counselor, it’s possible you’d be able to switch your student aid period from Egbert’s class to her class, but with only a few months of school left, the idea is likely to be rejected, and you wouldn’t want to deal with the counselor’s nosy questions about the topic. Pressing your lips together, you briefly think about intentionally getting detentions on the day Rose has to host it, but it’s not as if you would be able to talk to her during the time period and Porrim would likely kill you if you actually tried to get in trouble in such a way (or, at the very least, she’d take away your car, which would also suck). Squinting and drawing a small pattern in the margins of your paper, you wonder if you could actually pretend to catch up on your English homework and just turn in several papers that detail your imaginary encounters with Rose. Looking up and grinning at her, you think she would enjoy the reading if you talked about the psychology behind your thoughts, which would loop back to the overall idea that you really, _really_ want to bone your teacher. At the very least, such a stunt would crack a smile on her face, which is better than her not looking at you at all.

By the time you finish the first three paragraphs of the paper – you’re quite proud of the introduction and thesis statement, elements you figure Rose would respect – the bell has rang. You feign writing another sentence while the first bunch of kids filter out and wait until Karkat pokes your shoulder to you put your notebook away and start packing up. He sighs and is looking down at his paper, questioning, “I suppose you wouldn’t understand what the different between a narrative poem and a lyric poem is?” while absently rubbing at the back of his neck. Standing up, you stare down at him blankly, wondering just how far behind you are in this class (you sincerely don’t even know what a lyric poem is or how it compares to a narrative poem), but a small cough catches your attention and your sight immediately finds Rose. 

“Vantas, I need to speak to Kanaya for a minute,” she’s staring intently at Karkat. You try to decide what this could possibly mean, but before you can come up to a resolution, Karkat has accidentally slammed the door on his way out and Rose has her gaze set on you. 

Blinking, you can’t formulate many words beyond, “What?” and hope it doesn’t come off as rude. In the brief moment of silence, you try to gauge her intentions; if she’s going to speak about your clothes, it’s either going to be her talking to you for ten minutes or you quickly explaining that the rules really don’t apply to you in that respect, or if she’s going to talk to you about your grade then you’ll just go home and work on the insightful paper you’ve already started. Not that one paper will dramatically improve your grade, but if you put enough charm into your wording, you might just get enough brownie points to bump your grade up a few percentages; at this point, anything is worth a try.

“From what I know of you, and feel free to correct me if I’m wrong in this, you seem to be the type of person who likes to stay within their comfort zone most of the time,” she pauses, still looking at you. “So, as you can imagine, I’m quite surprised to see that you decided to dress in something considerably unconventional given what you usually wear,” Rose puts her fingers together and stops again, raising a brow while you simply just look at her, admittedly curious and a little nervous as to where she’s headed with this. “I was hoping that you could offer me an explanation as to why you changed things up a bit, if there’s an explanation to be offered, in any case,” she ends, sitting back on her desk and waiting. 

This wasn’t the response you were hoping for; you’d rather have her give you a long-winded speech about dress code than question your reasoning behind it. If you had the same amount of bravado you did in your fantasies, you would saunter over to wear she sits and put your arms on either side of her while explaining in a sultry tone how you would eat her out and that your motives can be found in the definition of the word seductive, but you’re not nearly as confident in this moment as your dreams would suggest. However, seeing as your other two options in this situation are to shrug or blatantly lie to her, you decide going with the best choice, the one that brings you closer to what you’ve spent nearly a year thinking about but never acted upon. She likely already aware of what you’re about to hint at, anyway. “One could infer that I have ‘changed things up a bit’ not for myself, seeing as you are right in the respect that I prefer to stay within my limits on a usual basis, so perhaps that would offer a clue as to what my intentions are for my clothing change,” you smile and feel your face get warm. You’d hope that you come off as calm and smooth, but in actuality you probably look about as awkward as you feel.

Rose presses her lips together, furrowing her brow and sighing, “Kanaya, come here,” while sifting her eyes to the door. You want nothing more than to kiss her, but instead you walk up to where she stands and stop when you’re a step too close, somewhere in between her personal space and out of it. This isn’t totally abnormal, though - when you can, you make a point of standing or sitting as close to Rose as possible, which is why you’re always in the first row and lying about bad eye sight to remain seated there. For the first time, you feel queasy and almost as if you’re _too_ close to Rose when you really only want to get _closer_. “What exactly are you going for?” she’s stands up, closing some of the already little space that’s between you, and stares up, seeming to search your face. Normally, the height difference would make you laugh, but now you feel somewhat tongue-tied. 

Swallowing and then taking a small breath, you consider actually talking to her. You also consider that, if she does know what you’re up to – and you’re sure she does – and she’s not being positively responsive, then it’s likely you’re going nowhere fast with words. After little deliberation, you elect to go about what you figure might be the best method given the options. 

Just slightly, you lean down and pause, waiting for her to respond, but Rose doesn’t move at all and you decide to just go with it and press your lips to hers. In the few seconds it lasts, you sigh quietly and feel like you’ve crossed some long awaited threshold into nirvana. Everything feels suddenly hypersensitive; you pull away and don’t miss how her lipstick sticks just slightly to yours, then look at her apprehensively. Rose’s eyes open a second later and her lips curve into a small smile – not with any allure, but as if she’s figured out something clever. “I had thought as much; you’re quite transparent,” she informs you, making no gesture to have you move away or get away herself. 

You still feel warm and your skin is electrified, but you’re not at all surprised with her statement. “I was trying to be,” you whisper, though you don’t mean to, looking more at her lips than in her eyes. With a transient pause, one of her hands comes to rest on your thigh, circling the skin with her thumb and you’re abruptly aware of how cold her fingers are against your warm skin. Still, though your ideal encounters with Rose are much more to the point, this is already akin to perfect; you got to kiss her when you were sure she was going to lecture you and now she’s touching your skin, which is a major step in the right direction and you’re beginning to think it might be possible to get farther than this. “Rose,” you breathe, offering another small warning before you kiss her again; it lasts much longer this time, she sits back on her desks and subtly guides you with her, to where you don’t notice you’ve moved until both of her chilled hands find your thighs and you feel her knees on either side of yours. The action perplexes you; obviously, she’s the one in charge, but does she want you to get on the desk with her? It’s hard to guess her motives at this point, seeing as you’ve always dealt with Rose being endlessly verbose, but now there are no words to suggest what she wants or how she wants it. 

You stop worrying when she bites your bottom lip, an exceedingly undignified noise leaving your throat. Through your kiss, you can feel her crack a smile and it makes you want to laugh; instead, you take a small step closer to her, spreading her legs a little and touching skin you’ve been lusting after for an entire year. She’s still cold, almost icy in comparison to you, and you make it a personal goal to get her just as heated as you are – that, and to get her to moan _at least_ once (preferably more). Rose’s hands push up the fabric of your shorts, her thumbs looping underneath the elastic band and pulling them down slightly while she moves away from your lips and kisses at your neck and you hum her name, putting your hands in her hair and playing with it at the nape of her neck, incidentally pulling her face closer to your chest and she kisses above the draping neckline of your top. 

For a moment, you consider taking it slowly – this could be the _first_ and _last_ time such a serendipitous occasion presents itself and it’s possible that you’re actually caught up in the most realistically euphoric dream ever, so you should make the encounter last as long as possible. This thought is gone in the same instant it comes, Rose’s cold fingers snapping you back to reality when they grace against your inner thigh and she presses her palm up against your underwear; you don’t even notice your moan until she laughs quietly, pressing more kisses to your bosom while you whine and hide your face in her hair. It’s getting hard to breathe and you feel ashamed that her offering the simplest of touches makes you weak and is enough foreplay for you to be so vocal. Luckily, she’s uncaring, sliding her thumb between your legs and your knees tremble while you bite on your lip. There’s a small part of you that worries about wowing her, presenting the same sexual prowess you possess in your dreams, but the majority of you is gone, swelled up in her as she graces you with small, winsome touches that make you gasp.

Rose could ask you to do anything right now and you would probably follow suit as long as it would make her happy. So much as a command to deep throat a ruler wouldn’t phase you at this point, happily complying if it means she’ll continue to rub between your legs. Once she moves the fabric of your panties away with one of her fingers and she thumbs your clit, your train of thought is lost and you moan, high and breathy, in a fashion that might just resemble her name, and she laughs again, kissing directly under your chin.

There’s a sharp knock on the door, a noise that shocks you back to reality and you feel so dazed you question if it really happened, but it’s soon followed by Karkat yelling through the wood, “Uh, hey? Kanaya? I need to go before Kankri verbally kicks my ass for not being home on time.” You’re too stunned to move, you had completely forgotten about Karkat and being his only ride to his house. In the same time he speaks, Rose moves her hand away and, just as quickly as she had pulled them down, she tugs your shorts back up to your waist and moves back, further onto her desk and away from you, staring at the door as if it had only came into existence just a second ago. 

Looking bewildered, she turns to you and stammers, “I think that’s enough for today,” with her normally smooth speech faltering. You’re shocked, unmoving, as if the little time you had with Rose had allowed your shoes to meld into the floor, but a questioning, “Kanaya?” from her gets you back in motion. 

Stepping back, you look from her to the door and swallow, mouth wide open and you definitely look like an idiot, but you’re still coming to terms with all that has happened. Karkat knocks again and it’s the last warning you need before awkwardly mumbling, “Yes, right. Uh. Bye?” and quickly making your way out the door. You don’t hear another word from Rose but immediately start hearing from Karkat, who begins to discuss Kankri’s habit of pestering him for the most ridiculous things. You’d be more than willing to go on about how obnoxious his brother can be, but you’re coming to grips with the fact that Karkat is the reason why you’re not still making out with your teacher and you feel like slapping him upside the head for bothering you rather than having friendly conversation. You manage to swallow the feeling and instead laugh at some of his phrases, relief washing over you as soon as he takes a break in speaking to answer his phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	3. How Spurious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well first of all sorry this took like an extra week to get out lol

By the time Karkat has finished his phone call, the two of you are standing beside the doors of your car while you fiddle with your keys and Karkat is making a show of shaking his fists. You fear he’s going to end up tossing his phone against the cement – it honestly wouldn't be the first time, he’s already broken three other devices after similar fits of anger – but he ends up shoving it into his pocket, far more aggressively than anything should ever be shoved into anyone’s pocket, and swinging the car door open with the other hand. Before you can reach for the radio, he starts, “How can someone _be_ such a goddamn pushy asshole _all_ the fucking time?” You immediately suspect he’s talking about Kankri and your suspicion is validated as soon as he continues, “He literally just spent the entirety of that call telling me to get home. Who the fuck spends five minutes saying two words? ‘Come home!’ That’s all he basically said!” Karkat groans, grimacing and shaking his fists again, and you just smile in return. You’re really not in much of a mood for conversation, but his frustration is comical and you can’t help but find it a little amusing. 

A few minutes pass in silent peace, save for his angered grumbling as he gazes out the window, though the atmosphere is mildly awkward since you haven’t made another attempt to start up the radio (silence isn't something the two of you share often) and you're slightly anxious that he's going to whirl around in his seat and call you out for being promiscuous with your teacher. He's not one to care about that though, with his fingers drumming against the emergency break and he continues to mull in his thoughts. You're relieved; talking is next to the last thing on your mind right now and you're still irked with his interruption - however, as you should have saw it coming, the relief only lasts a brief moment. "So," Karkat looks away from the window and to you, hand moving away from the emergency break and to his lap. "What did Lalonde have to talk to you about?"

You open your mouth and go to tell him the truth, but instead shut it immediately. 

With little prior thought, you would've given him a good idea of all that happened behind closed doors, taking care to skirt around the details but get him to humorously recoil at the information regardless. However, after being friends with Karkat for as long as you can remember, you've come to recognize a few things about him. For example, he has a hard time keeping his mouth shut about issues that need to be kept under wraps, and he often opens his mouth to Eridan or Terezi, which frequently spells disaster. In this situation specifically, you wouldn't much want such news getting into Terezi's hands; as far as you know, her mother is a lawyer and you wouldn't want yours and Rose's relationship coming up at the dinner table to later find a lawsuit on Rose's hands. Similarly, you wouldn't want the same news getting to Eridan, because anything he knows about is fast to be known through the entire school. Of course, Karkat doesn't mean to casually spill your personal secrets this way and that, but he's got a big mouth and once he starts talking it's awful hard for him to shut up. However, since eighth grade, where he let it slip to Eridan that you had a crush on Vriska at the same time he had a crush on her, you've been careful to keep such information guarded. The ordeal had lead to Vriska's insistent teasing up until you punched her during freshman year, which was ultimately a lesson learned on your part. The lesson being: don't tell Karkat about those kind of things. He knows more about you than anyone, but there are few things he can live without knowing.

In fear of the information getting to someone else, you decide not to let him know what actually happened for the brief time he was outside of the classroom. “Rose wanted to talk about my grades,” you lie. “I guess not turning in the last couple of assignments and having no idea what’s going on in English has put me in a less than favorable light.” You would feel dirty for withholding the truth, especially from your best friend, but there's quite literally a mountain of other things you ought to feel dirty for at this point. Besides, he buys into it immediately.

Karkat laughs, which always sounds a little unfamiliar coming from someone who’s usually so irritated, and grows a supercilious grin. You’re reminded of how haughty he can be at times and immediately roll your eyes. “I _knew_ the outfit thing would never work out,” he declares, and you’re almost tempted to say the truth just to tease him. “So, does this mean you're finally going to give up on getting with Lalonde? I know this epic journey of getting between her legs has been a big deal for you, but it would be pretty fucking great if I never had to say something like, 'getting between her legs,' in reference to my teacher ever again.” Karkat sticks his tongue out at the phrase and you snicker. 

“Most likely, yes,” you pull up next to his driveway while you speak. “Though you must admit it was quite a valiant effort, even if it failed to come to fruition.” You shrug, feigning indifference while he reaches for his backpack behind his chair.

"Y'know," he thinks aloud, his head tilted up slightly in thought. "If your grade is actually that bad - I doubt you're failing or anything, but - you could probably get her to tutor you. At least to get caught up, anyway. I doubt she would be against it." He presses his lips together in thought, then climbs out of the car and continues, “You could probably ask during class or something. Anyway, thanks for the ride, Kanaya.” Your door slams and he jumps, mumbling an apology through the window, then half jogs to his front door. Kankri opens it before he can and you can already feel the amount of messages he's going to send you in an hour about the confrontation. For now, you look away from his house and push the thought out of your head, instead focusing on his suggestion.

 _Tutoring._

In truth, if you would just sit down and do all the assignments you've been neglecting, you would likely be caught up in a jiffy and have your grade at its former glory. However, it's nearly at a low C as it is, so it's not as if asking to be tutored would be uncalled for by any means. On one hand, it would be pleasant to finally understand what's actually going on in English class. On the other hand, it's more time to spend in Rose's presence, which is easily a favorable choice. 

Later, approximately four hours later and a little over ten minutes before you go to bed, you receive your awaited messages from Karkat.

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began pestering grimAuxiliatrix [GA]

CG: OKAY, SO.  
CG: THAT WAS PROBABLY THE MOST AGGRAVATING HOUR OF MY LIFE.  
CG: BUT, BEFORE I CAN GET TOO FAR INTO THAT,  
CG: ARE YOU REALLY THAT OK WITH THE WHOLE LALONDE THING?  
GA: Yes  
GA: ?  
CG: I WAS ONLY ASKING BECAUSE YOU SEEMED KIND OF  
CG: I DUNNO. ANGRY? EARLIER I MEAN.  
CG: WELL. NO. THAT'S NOT THE RIGHT WORD.  
CG: BUT WE BOTH KNOW THAT YOU HAVE A VOCABULARY TO PUT ME TO SHAME, SO LET'S PRETEND IT IS.  
GA: Thats Not Exactly True  
GA: You Have Made Some Very Colorful Metaphors In Your Lifetime  
CG: THIS IS TRUE.  
GA: Yes It Is  
GA: But Anyway  
GA: No I Wasnt Angry  
CG: ARE YOU SURE?  
CG: WAIT, I JUST FOUND A THESAURUS.  
CG: THE WORD I WAS LOOKING FOR WAS 'DISCONSOLATE.'  
CG: ARE YOU FUCKING DISCONSOLATE, KANAYA?  
GA: No Not Really  
GA: Honestly  
GA: Its Not That Big Of A Deal  
CG: I JUST HAD TO MAKE SURE.   
CG: SO, NOW THAT MY CONSCIOUS IS CLEAN OF YOUR FORSAKEN GAY FANTASIES,  
CG: WOULD YOU LIKE TO HEAR ABOUT THE WRETCHED, ASS EATING FUCK THAT IS MY BROTHER?  
GA: I Would Be Delighted

As he types, you really only read a few of his messages before falling asleep and dropping your phone onto the floor. 

CG: SO YEAH.  
CG: IF IT WASN'T ALMOST MIDNIGHT, I'D PROBABLY GO AND SCREAM AT HIS ASS.  
CG: HE'S SO FUCKING INSUFFERABLE.  
CG: MAYBE I CAN JUST PUT A BUCKET ON HIS DOOR OR SOMETHING.  
CG: SO WHEN HE WAKES UP HE'LL GET A FACE FULL OF SHUTTING THE FUCK UP.  
CG: MAYBE I COULD GAIN SOME SWEET PRANKSTER'S GAMBIT... IF THAT WASN'T TOTALLY STUPID.  
GA: JJjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj  
CG: WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN?

\---

At the end of the day, after all of your peers have left the room and you've bee assured that Karkat is getting a ride from someone else today, you approach Rose’s desk with a new mission in mind compared to the one you had yesterday. She glances from her phone to you, a little startled - if you didn’t know any better, you’d say she’s flustered, but her eyes drop from yours to the floor in a matter of seconds and worry hits you like a train. You hold the strap of your backpack, letting go and gripping again awkwardly while you wait for her to speak. She turns off her phone and stands up, fingers never leaving the top of the desk, as if she’s ready to crouch behind it, and you hear her swallow before her eyes finally come back to yours.

You realize she's _ashamed_.

Or, at least, something close to that.

"Kanaya," Rose starts, wetting her lips with her tongue and anxiously pulling on the neck of her shirt (a nervous habit you suppose, but you don’t miss the fabric gracing over her collar bone). "About yesterday, I... well, it was not exactly a situation I thought I would actually get caught up in, and I feel it’s necessary for me to apologize for my admittedly unorthodox behavior." Rose pauses and you silently question if this apology is also a confession of regret or not. She waits and adds, "Also, I must admit that I _really_ do like my job. If you know what I mean." 

You giggle outwardly at that. She must be honestly scared of you reporting her for her ‘unorthodox behavior,’ but how would possibly you report that anyway? There’s not a police crew in the world that would take you seriously if your report consisted of a complaint of a teacher being too sexy to handle - and, really, it’s not as if she could stop being sexy anyway. That's kind of her thing and you can't help but appreciate that thing. You also decide that her unnecessary apology isn't an admission to remorse, though the thought still worries at the back of your mind. Instead of acknowledging it, you say, “I understand,” and grin. Rose ceases fidgeting with her shirt, seeming to calm down a little. “But that’s not what I’m here to talk about at the moment.” 

She quirks a brow and leans forward slightly, a curious and slow, “Yes?” leaving her lips. You immediately want to admit to lying; you desperately want to talk about yesterday, to kiss her again without having to be interrupted by anyone. Your face flushes and you allow yourself a moment to rid yourself of the thought - there's plenty of time for that later. Though, hopefully not too much later, because you're quite ready to get between her legs again. 

"Yes," you repeat. "I’m sure you've noticed my English grade," she raises her eyebrows, "and I truly don’t have any idea as to what is going on in class right now," she laughs at that, "so I was curious as to if you would be fine with tutoring me at some point or another so I could be effectively caught up in class before I fall behind altogether." You conclude, fingers awkwardly gripping at the strap of your backpack again. If she simply offers a no, you won't be all that surprised; she's only been out of college for a little while and likely has more than enough debts to worry about, and it's not as if you can really offer her any money in exchange for her help. You do privately pray for a yes, though.

Rose studies you for a moment, eyes darting up and down your form as she presses her lips together, likely judging the sincerity of your request. After a long pause, she responds slowly, “Well.” _Well_... you wait. “I don’t suppose that’s a bad idea,” you grin, “however,” you frown, “I hope you don’t mind giving up your weekends. That’s really on the only time I have that’s free.” She eyes you again and you smile again, though a little more subtly. 

"Do you attend a church on Sundays?" you ask, genuinely curious but also joking. 

"Do I look like a church-going woman?" she asks in return. 

Of course. Rose Lalonde, perfectionist teacher with a lust for one of her students and frequent lesbian tendencies, _must_ belong to a wholesome group. You keep this sarcastic remark to yourself, though. “Weekends work perfectly for me. One last inquiry, though; would you be tutoring me at the school or at your home? Or perhaps mine?” 

She thinks for a moment, manicured nails drumming across her desk and you think about her fingers pressing between your legs again. You'd be embarrassed as to how fast your mind goes to the gutter if it weren't for the fact you've been theoretically rolling around in the gutter for nearly a year. You blush again, though you can't quite shake the idea this time. “If it isn't too out of the way, preferably my house. I keep all my supplies there,” she explains, eyes darting down at the stacks of paperwork on her desk as an example. 

"Perhaps," you swallow dryly, "you could take me there for a brief visit." You stop and Rose raises her eyebrows and you add, "for directions." 

You do not expect her to say yes to that, seeing as it is an obviously fabricated lie and a ridiculous request altogether - really, she could just give you the address and you would find it just fine - but Rose takes you to her car anyway. You suppose she’ll take you back to the school at some point so you can drive yourself home, so you take care to tell Porrim that you’ll be spending time after school to work on a project. As soon as that’s done, you find yourself looking out the window and listening to Rose’s selection of music, which ranges from classical to pop and a little smooth jazz. The atmosphere is certainly different now, much different from the two of you being in a public classroom with a door that could be opened by any staff member at any time (or any student with a hairpin, for that matter). Here, with miles growing between you and the school as Rose drives towards town, the two of you could get up to anything and no one would know. The thought is enticing and you find the passing buildings soon grow boring and your eyes instead drift to her, though you make a point of attempting to be a little less obvious about it than usual. Her button up is wrinkled at the collar due to her fidgeting and you want nothing more than to lean over and kiss at soft skin; her skirt has been scrunched up a few inches, now ending towards mid thigh, and you dedicate the rest of the ride there to simply looking at the elegancy of her legs. 

At one point, she snickers, “You sincerely aren't subtle at all.” You argue that there’s nothing to be subtle about anymore and it’s not as if _she’s_ a master of the art either. Seemingly in the same breath, she parks her car in front of a small house. It’s a little rustic with peeling paint and missing tiles on the roof, but all the other homes on the street are similar in this way.

"It looks nice," you say, which isn't totally a lie. It’s old and it shows, but you could easily find how Rose could see the beauty in something like that. 

She breathes slowly, “Kanaya.” You look from the house to her and quickly find yourself at a loss of words; it's too bad, you think, that you can't force out a sonnet to get her swooning, but you're not sure you would even have to do that at this point. You open your mouth slightly, forming sentences in your head but end up just biting at the inside of your lip, and watch hesitantly as she leans over the space between the seats and you meet her there happily, pressing a sweetly (and somewhat ironically) chaste kiss to her lips. Doing your best not to smile too much, you find it's a struggle to contain your excitement and can't help thinking about everything you've ever wanted to do to her or what you've wanted her to do to _you_ and how it _might actually happen_ and the year you've spent yearning for her touch will all be worth it.

And you learn quickly, much faster than before, that Rose is a focused kisser. Her tongue moves slowly against your own while her hand comes to cup your cheek, tilting your head just slightly to lean against her palm as she makes a point of biting at your lip. Pulling away, she smiles, pressing another fast kiss to your lips before moving away entirely and turning off her car. You follow suit immediately, messing with the seat buckle and then taking care not to slam her car door into the side of the vehicle next to it. Rose then grabs your hand, letting it slip until her index finger is hooked with your own and leading you to her front door. 

As it opens, you recall the promise you made to yourself last time you were with her; to get her just as riled as you were yesterday. 

As it shuts, you make a quick move and press Rose back against it, your forearms framing her face and pelvis pinned against your own. You look down at her and smirk and she looks up in slight exasperation as she stands on the tips of her toes to kiss you again. It doesn't last too long, though; you grow tired of leaning down and she grows tired of leaning up, so you do both of you the gracious favor of lifting her up by the back of her thighs, again pressing her up against the wall for support and you're privately thankful for the hours you've spent swinging around a heavy chainsaw for gardening. You aren't terribly athletic, but you manage to hold her up all the same. Her legs drape loosely over your hips and she rests her elbows against your shoulders, hands coming to lightly pull and fuss with your hair while she slips her tongue back between your lips and you meet her all too eagerly. Her skirt has been entirely bunched up to her waist by now and you spend your time feeling her thighs, your thumb slipping under the band of her underwear and rubbing over skin there while making small motions of tugging the garment off, but that would call for dislodging her from her place between you and the door, so you end up just teasing her (and yourself) instead.

Rose tugs at your hair at the same time she pulls away, effectively pulling a noise out of you while tilting your head back so she can kiss your neck. Your breath comes out heavy and you do your best to calm down, but it's hard to focus when she bites down and presses her hips closer against yours. When you groan you feel her lips curve into a smile before she snickers and you're filled with a new bout of determination, which is entirely fueled by the fact you fear you're going to collapse onto your ass if she keeps her motions up, so you focus on taking a deep breath and arranging the words on the tip of your tongue. " _Rose_ ," you say, just barely managing her name, but it catches her attention long enough for you to gently bring her feet back down to the floor. "Can we move to your bed?"

Rose doesn't remark upon your sudden loss of vocabulary and you're incessantly thankful, returning the favor when you pointedly ignore the clothes on the floor of her room and her cluttered shelves. Not that you have much time to look around anyway, or that you're particularly interested in the way Rose happens to live, because she whirls around and captures you in a kiss once again, slowly leading you backwards towards the bed. You're only slightly surprised to find that she's not distinctly verbose when caught up like this - you had an inkling that she would be the type of person to talk through the entirety of sex, or at least foreplay, but you're not complaining; you highly doubt you could be on equal ground with words right now. 

You're careful as you follow her onto the bed, taking care not to accidentally knee her in the side or anything else that would completely ruin the mood, and are eventually satisfied being above her, with a majority of your weight settled on your knees and elbows while she curls her fingers back through your hair. Rose smiles, one of her hands warmly rested against your cheek, and her eyes quickly flick from your eyes down while she presses a few fingers against your neck. "That's going to bruise," she whispers and you decide that's something you can worry about later. 

You lean down and lead her into a kiss, though you're distracted while trying to remember the entirety of every lesbian porno you've ever watched (way too many, your browser history probably resembles that of a straight boy's), because it'd be wrong to say you're as experienced in this situation as you'd like to be. Plenty of the books you've spent gazing over have simply just suggested to _go with the flow_ and it'll all be fine and perfect, but it's pretty hard to do that when you've yet to even _set_ the flow. Plus, in hindsight, you realize it might have been a little naïve to trust literature or media to give you half a clue as to what an actual experience would be like. However, you do have somewhat of an idea as to what you're doing when you slip your hand over her inner thigh, hesitating there for only a moment - Rose takes this pause as an opportunity to pull you closer to her, moving you down until your body is flush with hers - before pressing your palm between her legs. She gasps heavy and you shiver, though you turn your head away and hide between her neck and shoulder by the time you've moved her panties off to the side and slid two fingers inside of her. You feel slightly embarrassed, which is pretty ridiculous, seeing as, if anything, Rose should be the one who's embarrassed. She doesn't seem to mind (or notice) though. She's made a fist on your hair and lightly tugs each time you get a gasp out of her, so you guess you must be doing something right. 

Tilting your head slightly, you look up and spy Rose's eyes shut and mouth slightly agape, and you experiment with pressing your thumb against her clit. She moans high in her throat and if you thought you were hot before you're practically burning now, an unprecedented heat licking between your legs and you're _so_ determined to have her become a withering mess beneath you and can only hope she'll return the favor. 

It doesn't take too long to get her to come, at least it doesn't seem like a long time, but you're not sure how fast time is passing right now and you really hope it doesn't pass at _all_. She bites down on her knuckles and goes silent, hips rising a few inches off the bed while you press light kisses against her neck. You keep thrusting your fingers until she falls back down and moves her hand from her mouth to cover her eyes, breath heavy and coming down in little puffs. Pressing your lips to her cheek, you hear Rose mutter, " _Fuck_ ," just under hear breath. You snicker, taking your hand from between her legs and bringing your fingers to your lips; the taste is different, but definitely something you wouldn't mind getting used to.

\---

The following Monday, after a weekend spent almost entirely with Rose and a school day with a perpetual grin plastered on your face, you're driving Karkat home. He's spent the first few minutes of the ride groaning about how he had to get a ride from Terezi on Friday and how it surely must have been the worst experience of his entire life, but he eventually moves on to a different topic. One that you're a little more keen to pay attention to.

"You've been _pretty_ damn cheery today." Karkat squints, unfinished math homework propped on his knees and a permanent frown on his face. He leans closer to you, just slightly, prompting you for a response.

You realize belatedly that his statement is more of a question - rather, a proposition - and take your eyes from road to glance at him in the passenger seat. Briefly, you consider if he's suspicious or simply curious and reply with a hesitant, "Yes?" You drum your fingers against the steering wheel and he mulls over the information, as if there's a lot to mull over, and then shoves his open notebook into his backpack (and he wonders why all of his papers are crumpled). You decide that he must be suspicious of something, though you doubt he really has any idea of what that _something_ actually is, because you've been more than careful with the privacy of your relationship with Rose, but you worry regardless. Karkat has a knack for these kind of things, picking up on the feelings of others (save for his own), and you're anxious that he's caught onto this as well. 

In the same moment he opens his mouth, you suck in your breath, nervously biting down on your lip. "Do you have a girlfriend or something?" 

"No." The answer is automatic and you're happy to tell the truth about that. Rose, at least as far as the two of you have cared to define it, is _not_ your girlfriend, nor are you hers, and it works like that. You aren't sure _what_ to call it, seeing as you truly aren't dating her and sincerely don't have any romantic feelings towards her whatsoever, so you guess that it could best be labeled as a friends-with-benefits type of relationship. There's more to it than that, seeing as Rose is your teacher and would most likely go to jail if anyone got an idea as to what the two of you do after school, but you doubt a proper term for it exists in the English language - or, really, any language. Well. That's not entirely true. A proper term would be scandalous.

Still, Karkat doesn't need to be made aware of that. 

He huffs, "huh." Leaning back in his chair, he looks up in thought before turning back to you and trying again. "Did you go through with the whole tutoring thing, then? Did you raise your English grade?" 

The answer to that is somewhat mixed, but you supply a wholesome, "Yes, I did," anyway. "Rose is an _excellent_ tutor," you add, doing best not to laugh privately to yourself. Little of the time you spend in Rose's company is actually tutoring, though you've managed to retain a few things when she makes attempts to talk you out of orgasm while fucking you into the mattress - once again, something Karkat doesn't need to know about. Plus, you've been making more of an attempt to listen to her during class, though you still haven't given much care towards your assignments. Your grade _has_ gone up a few percentages, which you suspect it's Rose's way of making things even, because she's still slightly worried you're going to turn around and tell, as if you aren't in it entirely just for her. 

"Oh," Karkat nods thoughtfully. "I knew something had to be up. I thought you might have... had a fling with someone or something," he shrugs and then grins. "Then again, I thought for sure you'd be a little more upset over this whole Lalonde thing, but I guess that was kind of stupid." 

"Why would I be upset over that?" you furrow your brow, pulling up alongside his mailbox, and then look at him curiously.

He pauses. "Because you've had a crush on her for like... an entire fucking year?" 

You pause. "No?" 

"Oh. No or _no_?"

"That doesn't even make sense. _No_."

"Oh. So no?"

"Yes, no."

"Yes, no or _yes_ , no?" 

"Stop," you smile, covering your face with your hand. Karkat laughs, rolling his eyes and being careful not to slam your door this time when he gets out of your car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> perhaps when im 900 years old ill finally be able to write smut but until then we will have to settle for some mediocre shit
> 
> also i just really wanted to write a pesterlog


End file.
